


A Fool’s Errand

by CharbroilLaFlamme



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Assassination, Disturbing Themes, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Hatred, Headcanon, Laughter, Madness, Mentions of Blood, Mild Language, Murder, POV First Person, Short, Writer’s interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharbroilLaFlamme/pseuds/CharbroilLaFlamme
Summary: Cicero begins his descent into laughter after his final contract.





	A Fool’s Errand

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some more dark stuff, yo.

Dying joyously. I used to think that was impossible.

A _myth_.

But I saw him dance. I saw him prance and make fun in the woods he’d taken me to for a tryst with death.

And a quiet meeting of my blade to which he toasted with his penetrating laughter.

I felt the warm flush of blood over my knife hand.

In my dreams, he was there. Cursing me from the void. But I would _not_ bow.

I couldn’t forget his laughter. It boomed. It accompanied my every thought. Every word fringed with laughter that, with ease, made me feel not so lonely.

It was _Hell_. Truly.

I envied it. I so envied that cheeriness, that which I may never feel.

But only in that one brief, fateful moment, his laugh latched on like a plague, like a parasite. I was already taken the second his voice reached my ears in that first meeting. That second of interaction.

That _final_ choking cackle—that which broke through his scream of agony. That last shivering breath, his grey eyes dimming as his chest fell one last time with a throaty gurgle. And that victorious _grin_.

He _knew_ what he had done. He was _not_ stupid.

I recalled the bells jingling on his costume and the shiny gold trim, the slight shimmer in the fibres of his court jester’s uniform. Like silk.

His modus operandi was to bring joy. Was to laugh. To be the sycophantic, boot-licking son-of-a-clown. The _idiot_.

But one couldn’t be _further_ from the truth.

He was a mastermind in bells. A schemer. A _Fool of Hearts_ , if you will. He held my strings. Had me pinned.

I knew that the madcap _hated_ me with every fibre of his being. His blood _boiled_. He quivered with fury. But in my face. He _smiled_. He _laughed_. He spited me at _every_ turn. Wanted to spit in my face.

He wanted nothing but to make me regret. Reforge me. Someone new.

Thusly, I could not forget him. I could not... _ignore_ him.

I wanted to scream his laughter into submission. But found that it only screamed back. And I too felt the cursed laugh begin to bubble up into my own throat like a retching sickness.

Then I was awoken from sleep by the crowing.

Again, like all nights.

Opening eyes to the dark, dankness of the Sanctuary. Comfort of home.

Remembering every single detail infallibly. Every _damned_ sensation.

I hated _every_ note of his voice. _Every_ breath.

His contract reached out and beckoned.

So I killed him. So I could not hear it again.

But no, his voice bored so deep, that I couldn’t do anything _but_ hear it.

Forgetting it was a fool’s errand...

And _Cicero_ was the fool.


End file.
